


Ritual of Tears

by LostCassilda



Series: Stocking x Brief: Unrequited [2]
Category: Panty & Stocking with Garterbelt
Genre: Angst, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Men Crying, One-Sided Attraction, Pining, Wish Fulfillment
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-03
Updated: 2020-10-03
Packaged: 2021-03-08 01:28:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,751
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26787460
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LostCassilda/pseuds/LostCassilda
Summary: The three of them were locked in clockwork, so long as either Stocking or Brief kept being fools as long as they keep inviting themselves unto pain.
Relationships: Anarchy Stocking/Briefers "Brief" Rock
Series: Stocking x Brief: Unrequited [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1944892
Comments: 8
Kudos: 12





	Ritual of Tears

“For the last time Geek Boy, I’m in the middle of somethin’ here. Now Get lost!” 

“B-but Panty! I-” 

*SLAM! * 

Brief stared at the closed door; his mouth hung open with words unsaid. A weight pulled at him: the bouqet of flowers he held in both hands in front of his chest. They suddenly felt too heavy. His arm slacked to his side, along with his head, shoulders, and his pride. With time he’d find the strength to move his legs, and so he would: away from Panty’s room as her and her guest of this night started making the bed creak. Even though he had just seen her in a sheer pink night gown that hid absolutely nothing, he couldn’t be happy. It wasn’t a treat made just for him. 

But there was one downstairs. Stocking was seated in front of the TV with a cup of ice cream on her lap and a had a tiny spoon to make the experience longer. At the other end of the table was a matching little cup, perched on a tea plate, and a normal sized spoon swimming in slightly melted cherry ice cream. It seemed she had expected this outcome. Brief's pride sunk further, and he could only admit defeat as took his spot on the couch. Stocking never took her eyes away from the screen. She could feel the seat beside her sink slightly, hear the clinking of ceramic and finally a mumbled “Thanks, Stocking.” The voice was small and hurt, and it made her feel the say way. 

“Mm.” She said. Neither of them were really watching the movie. Brief took a few spoonfuls, but despondently let it melt in his mouth. He thought about himself, and of Panty, and a future that seemed like it would never be. He felt like an idiot child. He didn’t really know what to make of Stocking’s behavior either. He knew he didn’t want to nurse a broken heart alone, but he wasn’t fond of being judged by her, and with pity. Probably. It was difficult to tell in her far-off eyes. His ice cream was turning into a cold goopy soup, even though she went out of her way to prepare it for him. He realized in hindsight he should’ve followed her advice, had to accept once again that he was stupid. Going after Panty had been much easier with her there to support him every step of the way though, even when told him it was futile. 

Stocking on the other hand was perfectly adept at treating herself and wallowing in misery simultaneously. As she savored each bite, she thought of him and his pain, of foolishness both hers and his, and her welling emotions building like a storm. She's thought about this particular scene many times before, for it had happened many times. Brief’s confidence came and went with the tide and every so often he would find a surge of confidence to march right up to the church and confess his love undying. It always ended in tears. This wasn’t even the first time he caught her with another man, and yet he still seemed so surprised about it. He was the only one who would be at this point. But then she wasn’t any better, was she? She knew damn well why she put on a romance flick. Especially one with this cliched plot. 

The male lead, Bill, had just realized his feelings for his best friend, Sally, the alternative girl who had been right under his nose. He chased her in a dramatic scene with swelling orchestral music that reached its peak as he caught her and admitted his stupidity and the two kissed over the backdrop of a sunset. Stocking wasn’t delusional though. She thought hard about this ongoing cycle and knew that there were only a few ways this would end. Brief would change for Panty: Either becoming the macho man who wins her over or realizing that he can’t tie down Anarchy Panty and learns to live with her sleeping around. Or Panty changes for Brief, against all odds embracing all the things Panty hated (Monogamy, Adoration for a single mortal, a decrease in her promiscuity, her very freedom) for an admittedly flawed man. He’d fucking like that wouldn’t he. Or Brief wouldn’t need to change and Stocking would accept him as he was. Or this same scene would play out again and again: Brief with his hopes up, Brief crying into his best friend’s shoulder and she, being no better, consoling the man she loved about another woman. In a way, this made him eternal, like the Angels, like Garter, and like Chuck. Immortalized by a love tremendously hopeless and foolish. 

Stocking was stirred by a hint of a sniffle. She glanced to the side. Brief, it seems, had watched the ending of the movie too, and it seemed to affect him quite differently than it did her. he combed his bangs over his eyes, a shadow hung over his face, his teeth where clenched and- 

He choked. His cup clattered in trembling hands. 

-He was biting back tears. He thought of all the ways Panty didn’t appreciate how much he would cherish her, waited for the day she would see him as something more than a fuck and a friend- and then he remembered the divide between reality and a movie and having it hit him in the chest like a dump truck. He shook, the first drops of salty tears traced a line to his chin, hung off the edge, and fell into a tiny splotch. 

Stocking placed her cup down. Their signal that she was open to receive him. As always, she waited for him to move to her. 

There was no attractive way to beg for comfort while red hot and crying. He scooted down awkwardly to her end of the couch and laid his head on her shoulder. His arms wrapped around her torso and he held her tight crying not to cry and doing so anyway. Stocking averted her gaze, upwards, away, anything to hide her blush. His hands clawed at the fabrics of her lolita shirt, and finally her hand would find its way to his back and she rubbed it gently. 

Brief could only air his grievances between sobs and uneven inhales. “I d-don't underst-st-and. Why?” Stockings lips set into a firm thin line. She risked a glance to the stairs to the second floor. On cue, Panty and her partner’s moans became louder, more intense. The orgasm was building fast. The sounds of sex caused Brief to bury himself deeper into her shoulder. There was no longer any hiding how wracked he was. He was nothing but a shuddering mess that Stocking held firm in case he should fall apart. Never mind that was the 14th time this happened by now? 

“Panty’s” Stocking bit her tongue. “Just the way she is.” she defended, without so much of a hint of judgement. There was nothing wrong with her sister wanting to have fun after all, and she wasn’t obligated to change because of some human’s thoughts on how she was supposed to act and be. “It’s just-” Brief paused. She couldn’t read his eyes, probably would have lost herself in them anyway. 

“I love her. And it hurts.” He took all that time to think and it was to whisper something as simple and lame as that? Stocking tilted her head at the ceiling and sighed. “But what does that mean?” 

“Huh?” 

“So she has to change just ‘cause you love her?” 

There was no way he could agree to that without sounding like a dick. 

“No, I- we. If we ended up in a relationship, I’d do anything to make her happy. And if she were mine-” 

“But she isn’t.” 

She turned to face him, not even her patience unending. Brief bristled under her gaze. There was an edge to it that he couldn’t place. She seemed to be annoyed. He must be a huge burden on her. He started to realize he might be a bad friend. 

“I’m sorry, Stocking. Thanks for being there, a-and for talking sense into me.” 

Her eyes lingered on his lips, hungered to drink more appreciation from them, and something more as well. There was a softness to them, fragile humanity, true unfiltered love- if aimed in the right place. Instead she haughtily turned away. 

“Don’t mention it. It's not like you listen anyway.” Her teasing calmed her down. His face was still swollen but at least he could breathe now. Still, he was drained. Brief repositioned himself to lie on his back, placing his head on her frilly lap. This, Stocking knew, was the ritual entering its final stages. Her hair cascaded around his face, one hand traced circles into his chest and the other gingerly pushed his hair back at the forehead. She could finally see them: a gift he had prepared for Panty: two solid green orbs, raw and wet and honest. He looked back at her well-kept poker face. Still, lying on his back with an Angel over him was familiar – his heart started to hurt all over again. Stocking’s palm felt his quickened heartbeat, tried to soothe it with her ghosting fingertips. Her motives were not wholly pure: she found his heart was addicting. Were she stupid, she could lean down right now and force a sunset kiss. But she knew a kiss on the rebound was not love. 

They two lost souls who held completely different kinds of love for each other. He managed to form a pained smile. 

“Sorry. You pick the next hang out and I’ll buy you whatever sweets you want.” 

Her eyes remained tender, even with the marble lodged in her throat. Even when his breath tickled her cheek. He seemed to fade then, head rolling over into her lap. She let him rest in this quiet peace, allowed her thumb to brush past his lips. Still she held strong, waited until she was sure he would not stir, and picked him up like a bride and laid him onto the couch. She covered him in one of her thick blankest that smelled strongly of herself, prayed he would one day associate her smell with genuine happiness, with love and then headed up to her own room. There she wrapped herself in a cocoon of warmth and cried, with no one to comfort her at her darkest. 


End file.
